"Mine was infant pine cone." Oh, good God, I've never heard colour expressed in such an honest, nostalgic way before-how nouveau!

"Face crucified." I just...had to stop reading...for a moment...too phenomenal...too painful...overwhelmed.

"Whisper thistles." Haunting.

Lovely poem!

-Isca

You're amazingly talented. This left me speechless.

This is just epic. I love the intertwining of plant imagery and maturation and cigarettes and gaudiness-it's just so unexpected but you pulled it off very very well. And I love that each stanza is one sentence.

One thing irked me though: the lines "high heels gouging sterile sidewalks / as leers wind about your ankle to stumble." I'm not sure exactly what you mean there. Maybe "coil" instead of "wind" to placate some confusion.

But regardless, absolutely fantastic poem!

marie